Sorry, I didn't get very good photos or video this time around. Light is precious in East Wing. Also, no time for a full write up, but here's the quick recap:

Shortsweather played a brief set bounded by new wave, shoe gaze, and even a big of prog rock. The bass player bounced around the neck of his instrument and around the cramped basement. The guitar player's tone was impossibly processed and disturbingly dated. The drummer smoked too much as is evidently a requirement to be at East Wing. The keyboard player stood behind a fortress of large keyboards wearing a suit. What is the band all about? I have no idea, but I'll see them again and try to figure it out. Minneapolis's Constant Insult was cocksure and built for basements. The band was punk, melodic, and tumultuous, recalling The Replacements during my favorite moments. That drummer plays at 1,000 miles an hour and the crowd ended up in a pig pile on the dirty basement floor. I want them to play every show. Warm Bodies headlined. This young band has quickly matured into a real force. Vocalist Olivia Gibb is a wounded animal, hurt, traumatized, and with nothing to lose. Oh and buried in echo. Not sure what kind of animal that would be, but she's mesmerizing. Guitarist Ian Teeple wore a Pere Ubu shirt. That tells you a lot. He played fast, jamming thrilling bits of noise between odd chords. The rhythm section was unhinged as it ripped through the band's fifteen-minute set. If Warm Bodies ever steps out of the basement, it'll be famous. Fact: Warm Bodies will never step out of the basement. It's not in the band's DNA. This band's DNA is pre-programmed to self-destruct, sending its members into four new basement bands. Catch 'em while you can.